


The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2018 [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Established Relationship, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: In which the Doctor's absent-mindedness gets the Ponds into more trouble than they had planned.Pairing: Eleventh Doctor/Amy Pond/Rory WilliamsPrompt: Accidentally married





	The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by imaginary_golux

The Doctor flexed his fingers as he approached the TARDIS console, not unlike a concert pianist settling in before a grand piano, except for the fact that it was next to impossible to picture the Doctor sitting still, and that the TARDIS wasn't supposed to make any noise as she flew, and that she was far more complex than an entire symphony, and really, it wasn't much at all like a pianist, come to think of it. Most concert pianists typically were not on the receiving end of the sort of smoldering looks the Doctor was receiving from one Amy Pond, or, for that matter, the idle hunger with which one Rory Williams was contemplating him, and if they were, they were polite enough to flirt back.

Extended metaphors notwithstanding, the Doctor raised his voice. "Okay, you want boring? Boring you shall have!" He punctuated these last three words with extravagant manipulations of the controls. "New Salamanca, here we come! Nothing exciting here for the past ten thousand years." Unless you were inclined to count the independent rediscovery of the tapa, which the Doctor wasn't. Honestly, small amounts of food on a small plate? Hardly difficult. Now, large amounts of food on a small plate...

The Doctor blinked a few times to regain his focus. Things had been happening and he hadn't been paying attention. Not that that was new either. "Yes," he blurted out, figuring he had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, which was better than usual.

"Ah, I knew the three of you would volunteer as soon as I saw you." The priestess beamed.

It was at this point that the Doctor elected to take stock of the situation: ancient temple, one; ancient priestess, one; assorted tour party members, twenty-five; amused Amy, one; unamused Rory, one; mysterious ritual about to begin, one.

Hang on, mysterious ritual?

“You must complete the joining once you have consented to begin,” the priestess informed them. 

“This isn’t going to hurt, is it?” Rory asked. “Because there’s an awful lot of fire going on.” The Doctor smiled. Rory, always asking the important questions.

“Completely harmless,” the priestess assured them. “But you will be forever as one, as your predecessors before you, as the sun, the moon, and the stars in the sky.”

“Forever as one?” Amy’s nose wrinkled. “Is this some sort of marriage ceremony?”

“That is a mundane way of putting it.” 

“Well, that’s alright then.” Amy grinned. “Come on, my boys.” The Doctor went a little weak in the knees when she said this, which was bad, because he was a trifle unsteady at the best of times. 

“Marrying the Doctor?” Rory mused. “I feel like I should be complaining more.”

“I feel like I should be offended.” The Doctor drew himself up and promptly stumbled, catching himself between the Ponds. 

“Quit arguing, you two--we’re not even in the newlywed phase yet,” Amy quipped. 

And, for a miracle, the wedding went off without a hitch. Well, the flames might have left Amy’s hair a bit frizzy. But both the Doctor and Rory were too polite to mention it.

What with one thing and another, a year passed, more or less, and the TARDIS received a distress beacon.

“Temple just outside of New Salamanca,” the Doctor announced. “Their sacred flame’s gone out.”

“Sounds exciting.” Amy grinned.

“Sounds familiar.” Rory thought about this for a moment, chewing rather fetchingly (if the Doctor said so himself) on the cuticle of his thumb. “Didn’t we get married there?”

“Not like we’re going to run into each other,” the Doctor says, thumb smugly in his suspenders. “That visit was almost ten thousand years in the planet’s future.”

Before either Pond could complain, the TARDIS landed them in the temple. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments among the devout. Possibly they were just considering a conversion to the Church, as far as the rending of garments went. “Hello,” the Doctor boomed. “Don’t mind us, just here to sort out your sacred flame business. Kindly point the way.” 

With some stammering (the Doctor liked to think he had that effect on people), an acolyte was appointed to show them around. He rubbed his hands together. “Just ducky. Quite an elaborate yet elegant system--like some Time Lords I could mention.” Rory rolled his eyes. “Light enters the dome of the temple through a variety of skylights--the stars--where at the optimum moment, the focusing crystal collects the light in a single beam--the sun--which that mirror--presumably, the moon--reflects the beam onto the receptacle of the sacred flame. Sacred astronomy and mathematics. Right sort this lot is.” He clapped for emphasis and pointed at Amy, then Rory, using both index fingers each time. “So, you adjust the focusing crystal, and you mind the mirror?”

“Hang on, what are you going to do?”

“Honestly, Rory, isn’t it obvious? I’m going to yell ‘now’ at the optimum moment, when the maximum amount of light is shining through at the right angle to generate enough heat to light the flame. It’s a work of staggering complexity; no wonder the secret was lost over the years.” He paused to lick his finger and stuck it up in the air. “Though, at a guess, it would be at midday. Which would be in about seven and a half minutes. So, you know, chop-chop.”

Four hundred and fifty seconds later...

“Hail, the sun that lights the day! Hail the moon, his face ever watching the Earth! Hail the stars that fill the dark!” the priestess chanted, leading her congregation.

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Rory asked. 

“No idea what you mean,” the Doctor lied.

“So, we just happened to inspire our own wedding ceremony?” Amy goaded him.

“You know, there’s a triple alignment of planetary rings--”

“Husbands: bedroom. Now.” He’d rather hoped she’d say that, the Doctor thought, and let his face flop into a sheepish grin as his Ponds led him away.


End file.
